


Prelude

by MiserableRu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Frisk does not have a good past, Gen, I wrote this after I played Undertale, Old work, What has never been written, a past, about a year ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableRu/pseuds/MiserableRu
Summary: It's always been this way, you've always been surrounded by darkness. Your only companion is a person who brought you food and stories, as well as your own imagination.





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping through fandom currently and is debating whether to continue forth to Jojo or lingering, so here's a piece of old work I made for one of the fandoms I skipped.

As far as you can see, the room you’re in is dark. Always was, always is. You’re always inside the room ever since you can remember. Sometimes, someone with choked lilting voice would come in, apologizes profusely and brings you food. But the room stays dark no matter what. You couldn’t see through its thick nothingness and when you close your eyes, it’s the same sight as when your eyes are opened.

On good days –you can’t differentiate how ‘good’ the day will turn out anyway – someone would come in your room, someone other than the voice who brings food. This someone speaks in hurried, but serene voice; their words sometimes are melded together that you have a hard time solving their meshed sentences. But what you can derive from their jumble of words are, surprisingly, a collection of stories. 

Of a princess inside a tall tower. 

Of brave soldiers and mischievous witches. 

Of many things that you don’t know of.

You question their existences, sometimes when you feel good and the darkness isn’t so stifling. You ask, but nobody’s answer. Then there’ll be that sound of the door opening and closing and their presence will be gone. You can’t tell what’s gone wrong, you’re just curious is all. After the third time they slipped out of your room, you stop questioning and merely indulge your imagination about them. 

There is a story about princesses with beautiful golden hair. Or about a skillful wizard who has no friends. You picture them breathing, talking, moving just like you. Words become physical forms. Actions become theatrical play. You move your fingers along with their story, weaving twists and turns to your imaginary characters. You could see the prince laughing at silly jokes, the victory dance the warrior sways, and the mesmerizing but dangerous cauldron where the witches mix their magic.

The darkness isn’t so dark anymore once you picture them talking, existing around you.

But on days when the story-teller doesn’t come, you spend it by reminiscing about them. You close your eyes and try not to let the darkness overwhelm you. You draw pictures on the wall with your fingers. Maybe a princess or two, a prince on a white stallion, or a famous bard with songs about wars and heroes. You can map all the stories through your fingertips into invisible drawings of magical creatures and nobles. A gallant king with an incredible mustache. Or a wise queen with sharp dark eyes.

They are all your friends, these imaginary creatures on the wall. Your only means of escape from the darkness that slowly choking you.

When the story-teller comes in with food instead of story, you ask them to stay until you’re finished with your food. The story-teller doesn’t say anything, but they might be complying since no door is being opened or closed. You eat your food like a mouse nibbling through precious cheese; slow and patient. You’re half done when you feel the story-teller rises to their feet. You ask them. They stiffen –you can feel it in the air- then they say with a defeated voice,

“I’m sorry…”

The door slams open so suddenly and the next thing you know, there are lights flooding inside the room. The story-teller grabs your hand, “Run!” they say, breathless. You blink, trying to see through the light. It isn’t dark anymore but you still can’t see. They drag you out, maybe, you aren’t sure how big your room is. But there’s light, so much of it, you can’t see anything but white.

“RUN!” the hand on your wrist lets go. You feel panic rises inside you and you grapple for hold, to find a hold to reality, anything. You meet nothing but air. You tremble in fear, no, no, no. You slump forward, staring at nothing. There’s a pair of hands on your back and they push, hard and firm. You let yourself be pushed, is that grass tickling your bare feet? Is that clean air you breathe in? Then you blink and it seems like someone cuts through your sight, slicing the darkness away from your vision.

There are blinking lights above your head. Thousands, no, millions of them above you. They spread randomly across the expanse of dark blue, gleaming like flickers of candle-light. It’s so beautiful, so fascinating, so…magical! You remember the story and you feel like you jump straight into one of it. A hand grabs yours and then it’s pulling you forward, forcefully snatching your attention away from the glimmering light. You catch a blur of brown but nothing else as you stumble in your steps and shift your concentration on where to put your feet next instead.

You run for who knows how long. The road is rough, fills with stones and rocks. The path is uneven and the slopes are steep. You’re getting tired and sleepy. Just when you think that you’ll drop from exhaustion, the hand removes yours. You catch yourself in time before you fall from the loss of balance. You look up, searching for a face to identify the hand. There’s someone walking past you, a blur of brown. You turn to see them. But all you see is a wide back, standing firm as if defying anything that comes this way.

A man.

Maybe, you’re not so sure. A man or woman, you can’t be sure unless they tell you what they are. They have short brown hair. Colors. Colors you can only imagine and see inside your head. You just notice that you can identify color just fine. Brown. Blue. Green. You wonder why. 

“Run forward and don’t look back…” is what they say breathlessly.

“Wh-”

“Just run!” they snap, “…do you want to go back to that dark room, devoid of color again?”

Without thinking, you run. The green grass crinkles beneath you, the deep blue sky watches silently over you. You don’t want to lose this. No, not after you find it. Colors. You want to be able to see it for the rest of your life. You don’t want to go back. No, no, you are running from it. You can see this beautiful scenery for the rest of your life once you run away.

You run.

You run.

No, you banish the temptation to look behind, to see if someone, something is chasing you.

You run.

You run.

You don’t look anywhere else but forward. Your surrounding is nothing but blurs of green, blue and brown. But it’s there. It’s still there, colors, not darkness. You keep on running. Your feet hurt, but you don’t care about that. You run.

Then, your feet find nothing.

You think you’re running.

You fall.

You fall.

Falling.

Why are you falling?

You fall.

You close your eyes and the darkness crawls back to your eyes.

_You fall._

* * *

There was once a happy time. Somewhere in the back of your deepest mind where the light can’t reach. A time when you learn colors, stories, and faces revolving around you. There were warmth and kindness. There was a man and a woman and…a child? Someone else was there. You’re not quite sure who. And then, that someone was gone. Then the darkness took over.

There might or might not be such time. And you might or might not remember.

They might or might not remember

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The light is all over your face.

You blink, squinting when it hurts to see at it directly. Your body hurts, everything seems broken. But you try to move anyway despite your doubt. Your fingers move like you want them to, so are your toes. Slowly, you dare to fold your knee, the left one. When it doesn’t make any sound resembling something has broken inside, you inhale a sigh of relief. 

You’re alive

You’re alive and free.

You close your eyes, letting the darkness takes over your sight for a bit. The light overwhelms you, your eyes are starting to water. You prod around with your palms, feeling soft, velvety like material beneath them. You close your fist on the material, tugging at it slightly. A single yellow sheet shaped like a teardrop is what you get when you bring your hand up. You nearly cry guiltily.

Are these the so-called flowers?

You push yourself up to sit. Your eyes fall immediately to the expanse of yellow beneath you. A bed of yellow flowers had cushioned your fall. You apologize for ripping one of their petals and move to stand up so your weight won’t crush them any longer. They seem motionless when you watch them. Where’s the wind? Your mind whirs. There’s air, but it’s so stagnant it could very well only be as useful as an oxygen supply.

You shake your head, not knowing the answer to the question.

The light streams from above, you have to squint to look up there. Even when your eyes are squinted to its limit –any further, you might as well close your eyes- you can’t make out what lies at the end of the light from above. You fell, so maybe you’re somewhere below? An underground cave? An abandoned mine? A basement? Your mind searches through your collection of words.

Since you don’t know where you are, maybe you should find out?

_Should you?_

You nod to yourself. Maybe, you should. You don’t want to be happy about being free when you don’t even know where you are, right?

Whispering goodbye and thank you to the flower –you think you see them sway in response, but it might very well be your imagination, doing the tricks- you venture further in. There’s a purple gate to the North East of where you’ve woken up. It stands tall beyond you. Between it, you can see darkness curling in. You’re quite intimidated by its size. You take a small step nearer and your breath hitch.

The darkness scares you.

You’ve never been scared of darkness before. It always there, right around you, wrapping you. You shouldn’t be scared of it, yet here you are, shivering in fear.

_There’s a darkness you shouldn’t be scared of however dark it is._

There is one way you think that might help you. You close your eyes and blindly take a step forward. The darkness behind your eyelids is not as scary as the darkness between the gate. You confidently push forward them, making sure you’ve passed the gate before you open your eyes.

“Howdy!”

A yellow flower. One of the buttercups from before maybe? You rub your eyes to make sure that yes, it is a yellow flower over there, greeting you with cheery tunes. It has this strange, friendly face and it’s moving its leaf in a gesture that seems to ask you to come closer. 

You take a hesitant step closer.


End file.
